


Ink

by yeaka



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Slurs, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-05
Updated: 2013-02-05
Packaged: 2017-11-28 07:09:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/671679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Abraxas gets away with things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ink

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Harry Potter or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

The library is too stuffy for this nonsense. This nonsense being studying. It isn’t something Abraxas particularly likes to do; he tends to naturally achieve Os on everything. But he’s not one to stay behind socially, and none of his ‘friends’ are so lucky. Nott looks like he’s reading hieroglyphics, and Avery’s notes have so many things crossed out that it’s more a sea of black blocks than words. Even with his robe draped over the back of the chair, the hot air is getting to Abraxas. He drops his quill to fiddle in his pockets, until he finds a black ribbon. There are several of them scattered about his trousers’ pockets for just such an occasion.

Abraxas sweeps his long blond hair back into a tight ponytail, winking at Sarabella Abbott in the corner when she looks up to watch. Abraxas would never sleep with a Hufflepuff, of course, but that doesn’t mean he can’t revel in all the sexual attention he so clearly gets whenever he does something so divine.

He finishes a second later, several others now watching. Checking to make sure it’s all smooth, Abraxas glances back at his open scroll of pretend-notes. Lestrange grumbles next to him, “You look stupid.”

“And you’re jealous,” Abraxas quips back easily, brimming with confidence. He knows his long hair makes him look absolutely irresistible and doesn’t particularly care if Lestrange is too stupid to see it. He picks up his quill again, pulls his book a little closer, and continues to pretend he’s equally as stupid and doesn’t know all of this already.

He gets bored two fake-paragraphs in and starts doodling snakes on the side of his paper. A bit cliché, yes, but they’re the easiest animal to draw, seeing as how they don’t have any limbs. When that gets boring too, Abraxas fancily scrawls, ‘TR + AM’ inside a little heart and begins to decorate it with frills.

“Are you insane?!” Avery barks suddenly next to him, making him jump. When Abraxas looks over, Avery’s eyes are very wide, and he gestures down at the parchment. “You can’t write that!”

“Sure I can,” Abraxas insists, frowning. When he realizes everyone at the table is giving him similar horrified looks, he adds, “What? He won’t mind—I’m his favourite.”

“You’re suicidal,” Rosier says disbelievingly. Abraxas scrunches his nose up in annoyance.

“I am not. I doodle all the time.”

“Not with Riddle’s initials!” Mulciber throws in. 

Abraxas rolls his eyes. “You’re all being ridiculous. Maybe _you_ couldn’t write it, but I ca—”

Abraxas cuts off mid-word as the very subject of their discussion sweeps into the room, as silently as ever. Tom takes his usual seat next to Abraxas, and Mulciber shuffles his seat back a little on the other side, probably not wanting to get involved in this. Tom asks very smoothly and casually, (but in that way that is very clearly a life or death order) “What can’t he write?”

From Abraxas’ other side, Avery instantly points down at his parchment. Tom’s eyes flicker down to the decorated heart filled with his own initials, and then back up to Abraxas’ face. Abraxas can’t help himself; his cheeks turn a little pink. When Tom raises a questioning eyebrow, Abraxas lowers his eyes and lashes submissively.

But then Tom turns to Avery, musing, “And why can’t he write that?”

Avery looks like a fish. He quickly stutters, “N-no reason,” and buries himself in books and parchment. Abraxas stifles his smirk. The rest of the table busies themselves similarly; the way it always is. When Tom is around, the air is thicker. Most of them are quiet until spoken to, and everything is very proper. Tom, like Abraxas, doesn’t have to study. But he sits with them and reads, mostly for show, a much more advanced Potions text, most likely from the restricted section.

Abraxas isn’t at all surprised when one of Tom’s hands drops to his leg beneath the table, sliding up his thigh. Abraxas doesn’t react; it’s important not to make a scene. He lets Tom stroke him lightly, and he tries not to bite his lips and moan. Tom’s attentions always get to him too fast. He wants to put his hand over Tom’s but doesn’t dare move without permission.

Across the library, an entire row of books suddenly topples out of the top shelf, and several fly into the back of Nott’s head. The entire table jumps up with shouts, except for Abraxas, of course, who stays right where Tom holds him. Tom’s hand claws into his thigh almost painfully, and Tom leans into his ear, hissing nearly in Parseltongue, “You’ll meet me at the entrance to the Chamber tonight, since you’re apparently so eager to be mine.”

Abraxas nods, sighing more erotically than he means to, “Yes, _yours._ ”

Tom chuckles, “ _Whore,_ ” and bites his ear. Abraxas shivers. The library is up in arms over the collapsed shelf; no one’s noticed. Tom goes back to his book, but his hand stays possessively on Abraxas’ thigh.

Eventually, the others go back to studying, and Abraxas goes back to decorating his heart.


End file.
